


We're not so different after all

by Miss_Rust



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Betaed, Dancing, Don't Like Don't Read, Everyone Is Gay, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Gay Jon Snow, Getting Together, I repeat, Jon Snow Knows Something, Jon Snow is King in the North, Jon Snow is very gay, Jon never knelt, King Jon Snow, M/M, Missing Scene, Not Canon Compliant, Political Jon Snow, Post-Battle of Winterfell | Final Battle Against the White Walkers, Sassy Jon Snow, Sorry Not Sorry, Theon Greyjoy Lives, background gays, i cant tag for shit lads, jonmundweek2020, not Daenerys friendly, the north has different customs than the south, very gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23268628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Rust/pseuds/Miss_Rust
Summary: Sometimes, there is an opportunity. A slight opening of a door that, if used, may save an entire country. And, if opened, this door may shed light on another door, that has somehow always been in plain sight.Fortunately, Jon gets a foot in the door before it shuts. And proceeds to strut through.
Relationships: Tormund Giantsbane/Jon Snow
Comments: 18
Kudos: 228





	We're not so different after all

**Author's Note:**

> My first submission for Jonmundweek2020! 
> 
> I really do hope you like it! 
> 
> Thank you to my fren @szamanita for beta'ing!

The feast is raging. People are mingling, _his people_ , with Dothraki and Unsullied and Southerners, and the Free Folk. All of them, no boundaries, no prejudice, just people happy they survived and celebrating.

He's sat at the long table, so different still to him, considering where he used to sit in his past. Tyrion is between him and Daenerys, Sansa on Jon's right side, followed by Tormund, and at the far end Yohn Royce. Ser Davos is there too, and some of the higher ranking Unsullied.

He realises he's been distracted by his surroundings when he hears Tyrion talk, seemingly to him.

"You know, Loras Tyrell died for this, and he was pretty careful about it."

"Apologies, my lord, it seems like I've been distracted," he starts, "Would you repeat it?"

Instead of speaking, the dwarf points and Jon follows his finger, confused, noticing that the entire high table is now watching, equally confused. 

The Queen's Hand points at two Northern soldiers near one of the walls, very close to each other and talking, obviously in love. Jon watches for a while, as the couple kisses, unbothered by the glances of their king or anybody else. 

"I'm not sure what you mean, my lord," he turns back to the Lannister, even though he knows precisely what Tyrion takes issue with. Out of the corner of his eye, he notes the white-blonde hair of Queen Daenerys, his aunt-

She's listening. Good. An opportunity to see how the future Queen of Westeros will approach this issue. Not that it is an issue. But the South has queer views on relationships between men. 

"Your Grace, with respect, I am quite confused about these very public displays of affection. Mind you, I am not against it, but isn't that quite dangerous? It is, after all, unlawful, and they are practically doing it where their king can see, they're bound to face punishment, by you." Tyrion questions.

Now the entire high table is watching him, and Jon can't help the little smirk playing around his lips. He chances a glance at Sansa, who is equally amused, her blue eyes glinting in the firelight. 

"Ah, I see. You Southerners keep forgetting the North was independent for much much longer, and the many rules and laws of this time are still imprinted in us. Punishing people for loving someone is just one of the many shit laws the South has implemented. I'm sure you agree?"

Now half of the table is gaping at him, Tyrion, the Dragon Queen alike, although Ser Davos seemed unsurprised. Yohn Royce nods in agreement, the Vale quite similar to the North in this respect, he knows. 

But one person surprises him. Tormund, on the other end of the table, seems awestruck as well. 

Tyrion is the first one to find his voice again, but Jon is still looking at Tormund. Why is he so surprised? He knows the Free Folk love freely, that can't be it. Unless- 

"I thought that was just beyond the wall, your Grace," the dwarf says, still seemingly confused, ripping his attention from the red-head.

"You forget that before the wall, we were one people, still are, in many ways, especially now the Wall has fallen," his sister- no, cousin takes over. 

Behind her, Tormund toasts to that.

"Aye, we are. Lived with that one long enough to see it," the chief points at Jon, "And yet, I thought it was just us who loved freely. I see it is just the southern Southerners who are stuck up like that."

Ah. So, he didn't know. It never did come up, Jon supposes, with the war against the Others and fleeing them and preparing. Maybe this means-

"Oh, they still love freely, believe me, however, shut behind their doors," Tyrion laughs, but Jon doesn't smile. He doesn't react to the Hand's attempt at diffusing the situation. The Lannister knows he's treading on thin ice, but he's made it worse with his feeble attempt at a joke.

He scoffs, and he knows his face is very disapproving, but he can't stop himself. 

"You never love freely if you can't show your affection at all times for fear of persecution, my Lord." He says, trying to keep the rage out of his voice, but not quite succeeding. 

And now he'll probably fuck up his entire relationship with the dragon queen. Seeing how she always looks at him with desire, even more now that she knows he's a Targaryen. Her nephew. He tries to keep down the shudder at the thought.

"If I had grown up south, I'd already be dead with the number of public displays I had in my youth. This-" Jon points at the two oblivious Northerners, "is nothing." 

Sansa can't keep her laugh in and snorts in laughter, very unladylike, and neither can Theon, who has just arrived at the long table, having mingled a bit. 

"By the gods, do not remind me of the time I found you and one of the stable boys-" he butts in, a cheeky grin on his face. 

Jon's glad for it. Delighted to see him get back to his old way. He's always been their older brother in a sense, teasing and teasing and teasing.

He throws a bread roll at Theon's head, trying to keep his blush down at the reminder and very pointedly looks anywhere else but someone's face. 

"Oh, do shut up, like you're better." He utters, mortified. 

"Is that why you went to the wall, brother?" Theon continues, and he seems almost like the old Theon again, "A life in the cold, but only men to keep you warm, amongst brothers." 

By now the people sat close to the long table are following the conversation, most of them Northerners, all smiling in kind. 

Jon splutters, and he can't really stop his face from reddening, and soon the Northerners are laughing, and he's mortified. 

It's not necessarily a lie. There are many men at the wall that are so inclined, because even though they can love freely, having heirs still precedes, especially when you're the firstborn. 

The wall is a good solution for those firstborns, lovers oftentimes leaving together. It is accepted. Having a lover on the side, of the same sex, is not frowned upon in the North. And yet, many of them do not like to do this, as it feels wrong to them, or dishonest. 

Jon's a bastard, and he had never been interested in women. The thought of his father marrying him off anyways comes over him, and he shudders. Ned Stark would have tried, if he had the chance, to somehow give him a better life. Maybe even give him a small estate as it was done for second sons, to try to rectify the hardship he had experienced because of him. And then Lady Catelyn, who was so scared he'd take away her children's birthright. Him marrying a woman and producing heirs would have made his life a lot more complicated than it already was. 

The wall would have given him more than he ever would have had in Winterfell. A chance to rise up in ranks, maybe find someone to love. A man, specifically. 

He tells the room as much, and Sansa takes his hand, squeezing it encouragingly. 

"So who will be your heir, your Grace? Since you're a king now." Daenerys asks, and the look on her face- angry, hurt pride- he's slighted her. 

He knows, she feels entitled to him, as she does with everything, the 7 kingdoms, her throne, the people-

And not even just those in Westeros, even those on Essos. And now that he's a Targaryen- she's probably hoped to marry him. 

But he has declared himself as unavailable by bedding men. If Daenerys had a husband who loves men and tried to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, the South would never accept that. It hurts her cause. He risks her wrath now, but she cannot hurt him. Half of the kingdoms would oppose her on this. She cannot risk it.

He has successfully taken the North out of the equation, merrily by announcing he prefers men in bed. Successfully timed it after he has gotten her support, her armies in the North against the Walkers. She's in a corner. 

Just as she cannot declare him a Targaryen, because of his heritage-

He has a better claim and better legacy than her. 

So, he just smiles, placatingly.

"Whatever do you mean, your Grace?" He squeezes Sansa's hand, and she squeezes back encouragingly. He knows his sister- cousin, now- knows what just happened, and practically feels the relief oozing off of her. 

"I have my siblings," he starts, sounding bored like he's reciting a known fact, which it _is,_ he notes _._ Daenerys is just woefully unprepared, not knowing how the people she so desperately wants to rule live. And yet, he still tries not to sound so sassy by rubbing it in. The Dragon Queen is starting to become more irrational and angry, it wouldn't do well to upset her. 

"Sansa is my heir," he continues, "and then Arya and then Bran, and if we all die, Theon will rule. He's a Stark as much as I am. If Sansa has children, they will rule before Arya. Women and Men rule equally in the North, your Grace." he pointedly looks at Daenerys.

"And if House Stark falls, it will trace to our cousins, the Karstarks. So then it would be Alys who rules." He nods over at the young woman sitting with her men over at the nearest table, and she nods back. She's been taught the succession lines as much as he had.

He looks back at the Queen and smiles. 

"So, you see the Starks are quite safe, in terms of succession, your Grace. Even though I may never have children because I prefer men, my people will not make me marry a woman, just because they crave an heir from my loins."

The Northerners cheer at that, raising their drinks to him. 

The focus shifts, as the people start celebrating, no longer interested in their conversation. Someone starts playing music, and some start clearing off space in the middle of the room, many dancing. The couple that started the discussion is still oblivious, now among the dancers on the floor. He'll have to remember their faces and thank them later, for saving the North. 

Now the conversation is just among them, and Jon goes even further, fuelled by his people and his anger at her entitlement and ignorance. 

"I wish you all of the best at deciding on an heir, it is quite a precarious business." 

He toasts her, and she has to raise her glass too, a tight smile on her face. This is it. He has officially declared himself a Stark, and not a Targaryen. And there is nothing at all she can do about it. 

Tyrion seemingly notes the atmosphere and launches into it again. The man might be smart, but he cannot keep her contained, Jon knows that. It will become a problem, but he doesn't want to think about it now. 

"I'm learning things about you, Jon Snow, what a surprise! I took you for a prude, even back then when I accompanied you to the wall! 'Have you ever have a woman, Snow' I asked, never would I have thought to ask after men! You said no, but I also didn't see you accompanied by a lover." Tyrion seems cheerful, actually interested. 

Jon laughs, amused. 

"No, there wasn't a lover. And there isn't one now. At first, because I was young and knew nothing, and then it was war. Not much time for dalliances and I was never one to do that. I love freely, but I don't give my heart to just anyone." 

"And have you?"

"Have I what?" 

"Have you given your heart to someone? Surely someone must have caught your eye." Tyrion smirks.

"That's for me to know and you to guess, Lannister." But he does chance a glance at Tormund.

The ginger looks- intrigued, as he catches Jon's glance, sharp blue eyes following the conversation. He's known the man for years, he can read Tormund like a book sometimes. Right now, his friend looks very much interested in the discussion, judging by the smile that Tormund throws him. 

Of course. Tormund never knew he was an option, probably didn't make an advance, so to not scare him off, if he thought it was unlawful in the North. Probably wanted to save himself some heartbreak, if his gut feeling was right. 

And there he was, just clueless, thinking he didn't have a chance with Tormund, with him constantly going on about women- but also men. He recalled some stories back then, behind the wall, and Jon had disregarded them at the time, way too scared in the foreign grounds. Too occupied with trying to stay alive than worry about who he could bed. 

He was an idiot. He had never known that Tormund would be open to such things. 

Maybe he could rectify this. He is king now. And his people support him, the war is done, the Night's King dead- 

He can do anything he wants now. 

Including wooing someone.

This could be a good moment. There are many couples dancing, and he itches to join them. But not without a partner. 

Determined, he gets up, unwilling to let this moment go.

"I want to dance", he says, coming to a stop in front of the chieftain. 

"Okay?" Tormund looks at him with a puzzled but warm expression.

"With you, you big oaf" Jon offers his hand to him, as per tradition when asking someone to dance. 

"Oh"

The longer he holds out his hand, the more insecure he becomes. Putting himself in the open like this, he feels so vulnerable, and it must show on his face, he's sure of it. 

What if he was wrong? If he messed it up now? Uncertainty creeps in slowly. He can't read his friend’s face, the carefully kept blank face offering no hints. It worries him, usually he knows what Tormund thinks just by looking at him. And vice versa. Tormund _knows_ him. Has for years. What if he rejects him now?

Tormund takes his hand. 

He's accepted. Jon's heart is beating so fast now. He's elated, and can't stop the smile overtaking his face. Tormund gets up, and Jon starts tugging him to the middle of the room where the others dance, interlacing their fingers. 

The people cheer as they join them. Nearly blindly, he watches around, but there's only happy, encouraging faces. Arya is god knows where, but Sansa is there, watching.

She's grinning. Theon sits in Tormund's vacated chair and toasts him, the arse looks way too smug. Jon pulls a face at him. 

When they come to a stand, Jon is suddenly faced with the realisation how much _taller_ Tormund is-

They line up with the others, mostly Northerners and Free Folk, and Tormund is taking the lead. It's a jig, men and women weaving in and out of each other in circles and lines and around each other, sometimes losing their partner's hand, only to reunite in pairs. It's quite joyful, and Jon isn't surprised Tormund quickly finds his way. They are, after all, the same people, only separated by a wall. 

They dance for a while, taking song after song, and Jon relishes in feeling his hand in Tormund's. He takes the lead in a couple of songs Tormund is unfamiliar with, never changing partners. Theon and Sansa join, and even Alys Karstark and Lyanna Mormont. 

After a while, though, he gets out of breath. And so does Tormund, so he's not surprised when after the current song is done, the older man _tugs_ him away and out of the room, into a small passageway.

Jon's out of breath, so he doesn't say anything as they fall into step next to each other. It's so natural. They're holding hands, and once again, Jon is reminded of his youth at Winterfell, being young and careless and in love. 

Now he's older, not so careless anymore. Tormund is a warmth next to him, leading him out to the air to the Godswood. 

Tormund is stroking his thumb across the back of his hand, and their fingers are interlaced. It feels so good. 

His steps are taking him the old way, to the weir wood tree- red leaves hanging deep, face etched into it.

Tormund stops. 

"I didn't know you had a Weirwood tree in here-" his voice is astonished, and Jon looks up at him. 

"My father always used to sit here, sharpening his sword. Right there," he points. He must sound emotional because Tormund squeezes his hand. Jon pulls at him, moving closer to the spot, and sits down. He's glad for his thick cloak keeping him warm. Tormund settles next to him. 

There is a comfortable silence for a while, as Jon reminisces. He's still holding the taller man's hand.

"Are we gonna talk about this, little crow?" Tormund sounds surprisingly calm.

"Not a crow anymore," he replies almost instantaneously.

"Aye."

Jon turns to look at him and smiles, and Tormund smiles back. 

Encouraged, he takes in a deep breath, loosening his tense shoulders.

"I never thought you were interested in me that way until tonight." He tells Tormund honestly.

Tormund laughs, looking down at their hands. 

"Neither did I. I didn't even know it was lawful down 'ere. I would probably have done something about it at some point, but I never- I never wanted to bother you. Or put you in danger with the crows." 

He snorts, raising his eyebrow at him, "but then I find out that the wall is a safe haven for men loving men."

Jon laughs. 

"Aye..."

Their eyes find each other, again, and Jon is astonished at how warm his friend's eyes are. Maybe 'friend' isn't the right word anymore, but- 

The best relationship you can have is the one where your partner is your best friend, nearest confidant, who knows you, the real you. And that is undoubtedly what they are, have been, from when Jon unchained Tormund and built up the trust between them, that now runs so deep.

"Jon..." 

Hearing his name from Tormund's lips, not his nickname, however much he likes to hear it in secret, _fuels_ him.

"I want to kiss you," he breathes, and when did Tormund's face get so close?

"Then why aren't you?" Tormund consents, voice raspy, clearly affected. 

Jon moves in, lingering, basking in the feeling of their breaths mingling, waiting, giving his friend the freedom to back away-

Tormund nudges his nose under Jon's, carefully tilting his head up, nuzzling a bit at him. Jon's eyes flutter close involuntarily-

And then they're kissing. He can feel Tormund's beard scratching against his skin, but his lips are so soft-

There's a hand on his jaw, gently cupping his face, and another one moving to his dark curls, tangling there, and Jon can't help but let a happy sigh escape. 

He can feel Tormund grin against his lips then, and it makes his heart ache. He wants to move closer-

He disentangles one of the hands he has braced on Tormund's chest, clutched in his furs, and blindly grasps for leverage as he tries climbing into Tormund's lap. The chieftain immediately releases his hair to wrap his hand around his back, steadying him. 

They fail though, and end up entangled and giggling madly, collapsing together. Somehow, Jon does end up on top of Tormund though, although on the floor now. Straddling the wildling, they rearrange their limbs, and Tormund leans against the tree. 

This feels right. He's in Tormund's lap, their hips aligned so close now. They fit together so well, their height differences making it so that he's basically on Tormund's eye level now.

He lets his head fall forward, pressing his forehead against Tormund's.

"I've waited so long for this," He whispers to Tormund, who tugs him closer at that. 

"We've got the rest of our lives, little crow."

"Aye."

They stay there for a while, and if Jon doesn't return to his chambers that night, no one comments on it. The Free Folk's camp isn't that far after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave me a comment! I'd love to hear your thoughts on this, I struggle a lot writing in canon things (not that this was too canon lmao) What do you think?


End file.
